


Only the Beginning

by missselene



Series: fulfilling for other people [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring John, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Making Love, Tender Sex, Vocal Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9812492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missselene/pseuds/missselene
Summary: Sherlock and John are finally together and Sherlock is happier than ever. There is only one small problem: it seems that John doesn't want to have sex with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for following the series! I hope you enjoy this last instalment.

Sherlock has never imagined that life could be like this. He is John’s boyfriend (they haven’t discussed the terminology, but they have expressed a mutual desire to be in a committed relationship, so boyfriends is effectively what they are), and it turns out that being John’s boyfriend is the only thing that’s better than being the only consulting detective in the world. It’s marvellous. John takes every opportunity to spend time with Sherlock and looks at him with open, undisguised affection, and Sherlock no longer needs to hide how he feels, they touch each other and hug and hold hands and cuddle and kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss, and Sherlock has never experienced a high that felt half so good.

There is only one small problem: it seems that John doesn’t want to have sex with him.

The night of their first kiss, they stayed on the sofa well into the small hours of the morning, kissing and cuddling and talking. Despite John’s usual reticence regarding emotional matters, this time he really seemed to want to talk to Sherlock about how he felt, to explain how he had bottled up his same-sex attraction and feelings for Sherlock, until Sherlock’s confession of his love finally forced him to stop ignoring it. Sherlock listened, aware what a privilege it was for John to share his feelings with him like that. He couldn’t really relate – he’d known he was gay since before knew what gay meant and it was never something he felt in any way ashamed of; not because he had grown up in a particularly open-minded environment, but mostly because he didn’t feel his sexual orientation was in any way relevant: romantic entanglements were to be avoided in any case. He did understand, however, how much self-loathing could affect your life, and he did his best to be supportive and try to convince John there was no need for his lingering sense of guilt.

It was past three in the morning and they were curled up in each other’s arms, having kissed and talked so much their mouths hurt, when John said, “We should probably go to bed.”

Sherlock tensed. Yes, of course. Why didn’t he think of it sooner? The nature of their relationship had changed, it was now time to cement their new status as romantic partners by engaging in coitus.

“I mean just to sleep,” John explained gently, clearly sensing Sherlock’s sudden nervousness. “It’s late, and there’s no rush.”

Sherlock was relieved – not because he didn’t want to have sex with John, but the emotional roller coaster of the last few hours had left him rather exhausted and besides, he’d really prefer to do some research beforehand, to feel less woefully unprepared.

But that was three weeks ago. Sherlock has had ample time to read up in detail on the various forms sex between two men could take, practice his gag reflex, habituate his anus to having foreign bodies inserted into it, get tested, convince John to give him a blood sample for “an experiment” and have that tested too, purchase five brands of personal lubricant and eleven different condom types, change his bedsheets several times, increase his level of personal hygiene and even consider various pubic hair grooming options. In all this time, John has not only made no move to step things up, but even terminated snogging sessions when things got too heated. It’s begun to worry Sherlock a little, especially considering the fact that before Mary, it wasn’t uncommon for John to have sex with his girlfriend du jour on the first date.

It really isn’t Sherlock’s area, but he assumes there are five possible reasons for this:

  1. John is being considerate of Sherlock’s inexperience and is trying to take things slowly for his sake.
  2. John sees Sherlock’s lack of experience as a drawback and believes Sherlock can’t be a satisfactory sexual partner.
  3. John disapproves of the fact that Sherlock’s only sexual encounter was with a professional and now considers Sherlock “tainted goods”.
  4. John has not come to terms with his bisexuality enough to actually have sex with a man.
  5. A combination of the above.



What can Sherlock do about it? For option one, he supposes it would be relatively easy – he could indicate to John that he is ready, and/or wait until John feels he’s given him enough time. Option two would be more difficult. He doesn’t think John would like it if Sherlock actually slept with other people first in order to gain more experience, but he could inform John about the kind of research he’s made and perhaps ask John about his preferences so as to find out which areas he should focus on. Theoretical knowledge certainly wouldn’t trump practical experience, but surely John would find it better than nothing. In addition, Sherlock could indicate that he would be happy to follow whatever instructions John gave him – that should contribute towards John’s enjoyment somewhat. Sherlock doesn’t imagine he’ll excel at sex (not straight away, in any case), but his body would be John’s to do with as he pleases, and he’s a quick learner. Surely that must count for something.

Sherlock doesn’t know what he should do in case of option three. Perhaps the fact that no penetration was involved would be a mitigating factor?

And option four… that would be particularly tricky. Should Sherlock wait for John to work things out for himself, perhaps with the help of his therapist, or should he address it somehow? It’s possible John is apprehensive about certain acts in particular (being the “receiving” partner in anal sex or performing fellatio, in all probability), and in that case it might help him to know Sherlock does not insist upon them at all. He might also benefit from knowing that Sherlock is happy to wait as long as John needs him to. Sherlock has managed to get to his late thirties without having sex, abstinence is certainly not a problem for him. (Although it is true his libido seems to have awakened since he and John got together. He certainly has to resort to self-gratification much more frequently – he now does it almost every time he takes a shower, while before he could go without for days or even weeks.) He’d gladly wait _years_ if that was what John needed. What worries him, however, is that _John_ might not be able to wait that long. John likes sex; if his relationship with Sherlock doesn’t meet his needs for whatever reason, it’s bound to make the relationship unsatisfactory as a whole. And then John might start looking elsewhere.

In the end, he decides to broach the subject openly. He’s really out of his depth here and he can’t risk doing something wrong. Besides, he’s been trying to repay John’s honesty with his own.

“John,” he begins on a Thursday afternoon, after they’ve returned from giving their statements at the Yard regarding a rather interesting locked-room murder, and are sitting at the kitchen table with cups of tea and biscuits. “There is a… matter I would like to discuss with you.”

John frowns a little. “That sounds serious. What is it, then?”

“It isn’t seri—well, it might be. I don’t know. It’s just that I noticed you seem rather reluctant to… have sex with me.”

“Ah,” John says, like he’s been expecting Sherlock to bring it up at some point, and he looks down at his cup of tea.

“I mean – it’s completely fine with me if you want to wait, for whatever reason,” Sherlock hastens to add. “But I just wanted to ask if there’s anything about me you find… unappealing, or if there’s something I can do, or should do. I’d do anything you need me to.”

John sighs, and nods his head. “Yeah, I know you would.” It doesn’t sound like it makes him particularly happy, however. He looks up and takes hold of Sherlock’s hand.

“It’s not that I don’t want you, I promise. You’re gorgeous and I’m… incredibly attracted to you,” John says sincerely, and Sherlock feels himself blush. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to this kind of flattery. “But I’m just… so afraid I’ll hurt you.”

Sherlock blinks. Out of all the things John could have said, Sherlock really didn’t expect this. “Hurt me?” he repeats stupidly.

“Yeah. You know how I… I mean, being attracted to men has always been linked to violence in my head. Whenever I imagined myself having sex with a man, it was…” he swallows, shakes his head, “not something I’d ever want to do to you. And… the therapy has helped me a lot, it really has, I haven’t felt this sort of rage in a long while, otherwise I’d never have dared start something with you. But I’m scared it’ll just… come back once we’re actually doing something, and I’ll hurt you and you’ll… let me.”

Sherlock wants to protest, to point out that he’s perfectly capable of defending himself, but then he realises that he never _has_ , not against John. If they were having sex and John decided he wanted it rougher than Sherlock was comfortable with, would Sherlock actually do anything to stop him?

The objection dies on his tongue.

John smiles sadly. “See? You let me do it before. And the terrifying thing is that that just made it easier for me to go on, it made me feel justified, because surely you would try to stop me if I was doing something I had no right to.” He looks at Sherlock intensely. “Which _does not_ mean that you were in any way to blame, okay? You weren’t, it was my fault. So I’m just trying to make sure that I don’t accidentally – miss a step I need to take. I need to be sure that there isn’t anything left of that… of that monster in me.”

Sherlock looks at John’s distressed face, trying to come up with something to say that would alleviate John’s worries. Saying that he’s sure nothing like that will happen would just sound like a dismissal of John’s concerns, and he can’t, in good conscience, promise that he’d be able to stop John. He takes John’s hand in both of his and gently strokes John’s skin with his thumb as he thinks.

“John,” he says carefully, “I understand what you’re saying, but I… I want you to know that I feel safe with you nevertheless. You’ve made tremendous progress since you started the therapy, don’t think I haven’t noticed. You now react with anger to only 36 percent of the situations that you would have before, and when you do get angry, it takes you significantly longer to get there and the intensity is lower. I don’t believe there’s anything in you that deserves to be called a monster, but if there was, I have complete faith that you now have the ability to reign it in. And… I believe you won’t hurt me because I’m... asking you not to. I don’t want you to.  Should I change my mind about this, I’ll let you know in explicit terms. Unless I do that, you should assume I don’t… consent, even if I don’t do anything to stop you.”

John is quiet for a long time after Sherlock finishes speaking, staring somewhere over Sherlock’s shoulder, and Sherlock feels a rising wave of panic. He probably shouldn’t have said that. What he _meant_ to do was to boost John’s confidence by expressing his trust him, and at the same time set boundaries so that John wouldn’t have to worry Sherlock’s inaction would make him feel justified to continue doing things he didn’t want to do. But what he’s probably done instead is put all the responsibility more squarely on John’s shoulders.

“John? I’m sorry, did I – did I do it wrong? I didn’t mean…”

John shakes his head. “No, you – you didn’t do anything wrong. That was, uh, good. Thank you.” He stands up, pulls Sherlock to his feet and wraps his arms around him. Sherlock immediately rests his cheek on the top of John’s head – he’ll never get tired of how good this feels.

“Thank you,” John says again. “You’re – incredible. And I promise, I _promise_ never to hurt you again, not ever. Just… give me a little more time, yeah?”

“Of course, John. Anything you need.”

*

Sherlock doesn’t mind waiting. Now that he doesn’t have to wonder what John’s reasons are, he actually appreciates it, in a way.  He’s glad he has time to get used to the sensations gradually - they may be progressing at the rate of very shy teenagers (or so Sherlock assumes; luckily, he’s never had to give any thought to the sexual habits of teenagers, shy or otherwise), but even that slow tempo can be rather overwhelming for someone who had successfully ignored this part of himself for most of his life. So yes, he’s glad to have some extra time to familiarise himself with his own reactions, and to learn John’s - what makes him gasp and squirm and say Sherlock’s name in a deep, gravelly voice.  Mentally, he’s completely fine with waiting. Physically, though… his body doesn’t seem to agree. He’s unused to this level of sensuous sensory input, and it turns out it leads to a pretty much continuous state of arousal and rather persistent erections.

And then one afternoon they’re kissing enthusiastically on the sofa with Sherlock lying on top of John, and they have gone as far as removing each other’s shirts. Sherlock is enjoying kissing John’s neck while John’s hands roam his back and his level of arousal is significant but not uncomfortably high, which is why it comes as a surprise when John moves his hands to Sherlock’s buttocks and _squeezes_ and—

“ _Oh!_ ” Sherlock can only yelp as his muscles tense and his penis spurts hot wetness within his boxer briefs.

“Sherlock?” John asks in confusion when Sherlock freezes in his arms, and then, probably thanks to the no doubt beetroot red shade of Sherlock’s face, he catches on. “Did you just—?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sherlock says in his mortification and disengages from John’s embrace. “Excuse me.”

He goes to the bathroom to clean himself up, trying to wash the embarrassment off his skin. This is really not how he thought his first orgasm in John’s presence would go.

John is waiting for him in the kitchen when Sherlock emerges, and Sherlock notices the tells within seconds. Posture relaxed, face reddened, breathing slightly elevated but slowing down, hands recently washed, dried with the tea towel lying crumpled on the counter, kitchen roll in a different position than it was before and at least one sheet has been torn off – but not to dry John’s hands. Belt recently refastened, since the end of it hasn’t had time to escape from the last loop. Erection – gone. The conclusion is unavoidable.

He raises his eyebrows at John, who smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, and at least has the decency to go faintly pink. “I’m sorry, but that was way too hot.”

“Hot? It was embarrassing.” The idea of John masturbating while thinking of Sherlock, though – _that_ is hot.

“No,” John says and steps closer to Sherlock, takes his face in his hands. “It was incredibly hot. And I think - it’s a sign I’ve kept us waiting long enough. We wasted so much time, before, because of me. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Sherlock’s heart rate picks up. John’s eyes are boring into his, and the certainty in them is unmistakable.

“John,” he breathes, and kisses John. He’s just had an orgasm but he can already feel himself getting hard again, just at the thought of finally, finally getting to take that last step with John.

Except, of course, Rosie is having her afternoon nap in Sherlock’s bedroom, and then wakes and needs her nappy changed and a snack and then it’s time for John to take her home and then Lestrade calls and then John has a shift at the surgery and then Rosie refuses to sleep and then there’s a client and in the end, it takes _three days_ before they have any time for each other. And while Sherlock didn’t mind the waiting before, it is now absolute _torture_ to do anything at all when he knows he could be in bed with John instead. (If there weren’t lives at stake, he’d send both Lestrade and the client to hell).

In the end, Sherlock asks Mrs Hudson to watch Rosie overnight - John protests that he can’t keep imposing on her like this and that wanting to have sex is certainly not a good enough reason, but he gives in quickly, clearly just as impatient as Sherlock. Mrs Hudson is have Rosie spend the night with her, and the pleased look she gives Sherlock makes it more than clear that she has no doubt about why exactly John will be spending the night – and that she approves.

And then – after years of pining, weeks of waiting, days of torturous anticipation – they’re there. Standing in the living room and looking at each other, a little awkwardly, finally alone and in peace. The impatience of the last few days seems to fall away, replaced instead with thrumming tension.

“Take me to bed, John,” Sherlock says, and John nods solemnly. He takes Sherlock’s hand and leads him to the bedroom – it should feel odd, for John to go first when it’s Sherlock’s bedroom, but it doesn’t, it feels absolutely right. Sherlock wants to let himself be led by John in this – to let John… take care of him.

In the dim light of the bedroom, John steps closer to Sherlock and cups his face in both hands.

“Okay?” he asks, thumbs stroking over Sherlock’s cheekbones.

Sherlock nods, and as he does so he turns his head to press a kiss to John’s palm. “You?”

“Yeah. I’m… I can’t believe it’s happening.”

“It is,” Sherlock says even though he feels equally incredulous, and bends his head to capture John’s lips.

It’s hard to believe John ever worried he could hurt Sherlock in this context. Sherlock has never imagined what sex with John might be like in too much detail – before they got together, it would have been akin to masochism – but the blurry images that nevertheless slipped into his mind were always almost sappily romantic – Sherlock in John’s arms, being held close, words of love whispered into his ear. The real thing, however, is even better. John touches him like Sherlock is precious, and Sherlock’s skin tingles under every caress as John undresses him. There’s love in John’s every touch, every kiss, every word breathed against Sherlock’s skin – Sherlock can hardly breathe with the intensity of the emotion it arouses in him.

When John settles between Sherlock’s spread legs and their erection slot next to each other, it’s perfection. They gasp into each other’s mouths as they begin moving in a delicious rhythm. John was right when he said it’s different when it’s with someone you love – this is simple friction, but with John, it feels like magic.

“John,” Sherlock moans and his hands travel down John’s back to settle over John’s arse and push his pelvis closer to Sherlock’s as Sherlock thrust up harder, needing him closer, needing more. “John, please—!”

“Yes, my love,” John rasps and then his hand closes around both of their erections, squeezing them together stroking over both of them. Sherlock cries out and pumps his hips up, overcome with desire. “Let me see you come, you gorgeous, amazing, beautiful—” John pants but Sherlock doesn’t hear the rest of it as the pleasure building in his core spikes and spills and he cries out, his body spasming in exquisite release, hot spurts of come landing on his chest. He’s dimly aware of John rutting frantically against him, chanting Sherlock’s name like a prayer, and then he feels John’s cock twitch and jerk next to his and John groans as more wet heat spreads between their bodies.

John sags against him and Sherlock wraps his arms around him more firmly, unwilling to let him move away. He’s heavy, but his weight feels grounding and comforting.

“John, that was – you were – I love you,” Sherlock manages as he kisses the top of John’s head over and over. He feels like he somehow loves John even more than before, if that were possible, or perhaps like sharing this with him has made him aware of new aspects of his love. He’s almost overwhelmed with the force of it.

“You too, you were incredible,” John breathes in the crook of Sherlock’s neck and then lifts his head press a soft kiss to Sherlock’s lips. They kiss lazily for a little while. Sherlock protests when John tries to shift away, tightening his arms around him, and John laughs.

“Let me go, love. I’ll just get a flannel to clean us up.”

“Baby wipes. Drawer,” Sherlock says, not sure he’d be able to manage full sentences.

John grins at him. “Sherlock Holmes, you’re a genius.”

He does roll off the top of Sherlock but doesn’t leave the bed, only rummages in the bedside table to find the wet wipes Sherlock has bought precisely for that purpose.  John cleans Sherlock gently, but even those light touches feel incredibly good to Sherlock, like his skin has become hypersensitised, his nerve endings attuned precisely to John’s touch. He can already feel the first stirrings of new arousal deep within him.

John lets the used wipes fall on the floor and cuddles up close to Sherlock. Sherlock’s hand are back on him immediately – how could he ever want to stop touching him? _His John._

“John?” he says slowly, stroking John’s face until John looks up at him. “I think you should know – I felt – feel – utterly safe with you. You made me feel… cherished.” He can feel his cheeks heat up a little at the word, but it’s true.

“You are,” John says fiercely, intensity blazing in his eyes. “You are, Sherlock, so much. You deserve to be. You deserve – all the love and care in the world and I’ll keep giving it to you for as long as you let me.”

“Forever, then,” Sherlock says simply and surges up to claim John’s mouth. They kiss hungrily, John’s fingers tangled in Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock pours all his love into the kiss, hoping John can understand everything Sherlock will never be able to put into words.

“What, already?” John says when they come up for air and his thigh brushes against Sherlock’s renewed erection.

“It’s your fault,” Sherlock points out. “But you don’t have to…” John shuts him up with a kiss.

“Of course I have to,” John breathes into Sherlock’s mouth. “D’you think I can just ignore it when this beautiful cock gets so nice and hard for me? No bloody way.”

Sherlock moans at John’s words as even more blood rushes between his legs. John kisses down his throat and chest, teasing his nipples with his mouth and fingers, he nuzzles his belly and laps his tongue around Sherlock’s navel, and Sherlock can only gasp and moan in breathless anticipation as John’s mouth moves lower, kisses his inner thigh, laps at the crease of his leg and groin and then – oh, _oh!_ – closes around the head of Sherlock’s penis.

“ _John!_ ” Sherlock cries out, and it takes all the self-control he can muster not to thrust up. As if reading his mind, John uses one hand to keep Sherlock’s hips still and wraps the other around the base of Sherlock’s erection.  Sherlock had doubts if John would be interested in doing this, and he’s so, so glad he was wrong because it feels _amazing_. John has barely a third of Sherlock’s cock in his mouth but even that is almost too much - the slick wet heat, John’s tongue and lips, licking and _sucking_ , John’s hand stroking the rest of him at a perfect complementary rhythm. Sherlock can do nothing but writhe and whine - he’s aware he’s making quite a lot of noise but he can’t stop, it feels so good. His hands grip the sheets tightly and his spine arches, feeling his orgasm beginning to coalesce.

“John – I’m—” he chokes out in warning, barely in time for John to let him slip out of his mouth before he starts to come, nearly sobbing in his release as John strokes him through it, drawing it out until Sherlock feels like he’s been turned inside out. He sags onto the mattress, panting in the aftershocks, and John crawls up to kiss him, letting him taste himself on John’s tongue.

“That was – the hottest thing – that I’ve ever done,” John says between kisses. Sherlock barely manages to smile in response, he feels so wrung out, but he tries to pull himself together quickly – John is obviously very, very hard and Sherlock absolutely needs to do something about that. “I was worried I might be a bit rubbish at it, but it didn’t _sound_ like I was,” John says a little smugly.

“Fishing for compliments, hmm?” Sherlock slurs a little, but he lets him have it. “You were phenomenal.” He tries not to be embarrassed about the amount of noise he must have made.

“ _You_ were phenomenal,” John counters, as if lying on his back and letting himself be driven out of his mind with pleasure required some sort of special skill or effort from Sherlock.

Sherlock strokes his face, brushing his sweat-damp hair from his forehead.

“What should I – What do you want?”

“Just – touch me, please,” John says in obvious relief, as if he thought Sherlock was just going to let him suffer. “I’m not going to last long.”

Sherlock wraps his fingers around John – and, god, just that simple thing sends a shiver through him. To be touching John so intimately, to have John trust him with such a delicate part of himself… although, admittedly, it doesn’t feel particularly delicate at the moment, hot and hard in Sherlock’s hand, flushed with arousal and, well… really quite big. Sherlock’s breath catches at the thought of having that amazing specimen in his mouth, or even sinking deep inside him, and if he hadn’t just had two fairly spectacular orgasms he’d be well on his way to one just from the thought alone.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John groans as Sherlock begins stroking him, his eyes sliding shut. “That feels so good.” Emboldened, Sherlock gives it everything he has, making use of all of his limited experience and everything he’s read about, and it doesn’t take very long at all before John’s pulsing hotly in his hand, grunting out a stream of endearments and praise. Sherlock feels a wave of satisfaction wash over him as John sags in his arms, and he thinks idly that giving John an orgasm feels better than solving a difficult case. At least a nine.

It’s Sherlock’s turn now to clean them up, and he does so gently but not nearly as thoroughly as John did before, too tired to care. They curl up in each other’s arms, and Sherlock could hardly imagine anything better than this – happy and sated, John’s warm body close to his as they drift off to sleep.

*

Sherlock wakes in pale early morning light with John’s arm thrown around his waist, John’s breath tickling his neck. His bladder is full, his throat parched and he’s a little too warm, but he doesn’t do anything about it for long moments, relishing the fact that he’s in bed with John Watson, waking up after a night of passion. Just a few weeks ago, this would have been a painful fantasy, and now it’s true. This is his life now.

He turns carefully to face John, examining his sleeping form. His hair is tousled, his face relaxed and worry-free in his sleep, a drop of saliva drying in the left corner of his mouth – he is the most beautiful thing Sherlock has ever seen. He can’t resist reaching out and stroking John’s face, marvelling at the fact that he’s allowed to do that now. John sighs a little but doesn’t wake. Sherlock watches him for a moment longer and then extricates himself from the embrace, careful not to wake him.

He gulps down large glasses of water in the kitchen and goes to the bathroom to relieve himself. He can’t stop himself from ginning stupidly at his reflection in the mirror as he washes his hands – he feels like there’s pure happiness coursing through his veins. He considers making John breakfast in bed – it would be nice and romantic, a proper thank you for the amazing first _and_ second time they shared last night. On the other hand… it’s still rather early and Sherlock doesn’t feel hungry at all – not for food, anyway. When he joins John back in bed again, he would much rather if there weren’t any trays or hot liquids in the way.

In the end, he brushes his teeth and then cleans himself very, very thoroughly – there is no doubt in his mind about how he would like their third time to go. It’s rather unexpected – his own preparatory attempts at penetration were always more practical than erotic and he never felt any special desire for this particular act, but last night as he held John’s cock in his hand… well, it turns out he does want John inside him, and rather badly. Less because of the physical sensations and more because he _craves_ that level of intimacy, to give himself to John so fully. And besides, he’s fairly sure that John’s worries about hurting Sherlock during sex had more to do with penetrative intercourse than anything they did last night, and Sherlock would like to fully assuage his fears as soon as possible. After how careful and tender John was with him last night, Sherlock doesn’t think there’s any reason for concern… he doesn’t even feel nervous. John will take care of him.

He pads back to the kitchen to get another glass of water for John and then returns to the bedroom, impatient to get back to bed.

“Where d’you go?” John mumbles, not even opening his eyes fully. “I missed you.”

“Just getting you a glass of water,” Sherlock whispers, slipping back under the covers. “I missed you too.” He pulls John closer to him and John’s mouth finds his, kissing him sleepily.

“Mmm, you brushed your teeth,” John says. “I should do that too.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock says, reluctant to let John get out of bed. Why should he mind the slightly sour taste of John’s mouth? He’ll kiss it away. He sets about doing just that, and the kisses go from slow and languid to something more insistent as John wakes up properly.

“This is the best morning of my life,” John murmurs as he kisses Sherlock’s ear, sending a shiver down Sherlock’s spine.

“Mine, too,” he says with conviction. “Do you know what would make it even better?”

John grins at him devilishly. “I have a few ideas…” he says, shifting his pelvis forward to rub their erections together, making Sherlock gasp.

“John, I… please, if you agree, I’d like…” Sherlock hesitates, not sure how to continue. _I’d like you to make love to me?_ Too vague. _To fuck me?_ Too crude. _To penetrate me?_ Too clinical. What sort of vocabulary is he supposed to use?

“What is it, love?” John asks gently. “What would you like?”

Sherlock looks into John’s eyes, liquid with desire and brimming with love.

“You,” he says finally. “Inside me.”

John tenses in his arms. “Are you sure?”

“More than sure. I want it.”

John frowns a little. “Do you _really_ want it, or are you just trying to prove something to me?”

“Can’t it be both?” Sherlock asks. “I want it more than I expected to, but I also want you to stop worrying once and for all. Do you really think, after yesterday, that hurting me is still a possibility?”

John hesitates for a second and then lets out a big rush of breath.

“No,” he says as if it shocks him a little. “I wouldn’t, I couldn’t. Not ever again. I – want to make love to you any way you want me to. I want to make you feel good. That’s all there is.”

“I know,” Sherlock says, because he does – the knowledge is rather overwhelming, but it’s crystal clear.

John looks at him with something very intense in his eyes and nods seriously.

“But you’ll tell me if there’s anything wrong, anything at all, okay?”

“Of course, John,” Sherlock promises.

John selects one of Sherlock’s array of lubricants and starts opening Sherlock up. He goes slowly, his fingers massaging at this most private part of Sherlock’s body and then dipping in, one by one. The tenderness and intimacy of it is heart-stopping, John never stops looking at him, stroking and kissing any part of him that he can reach, murmuring endearments. He takes his time with him, teasing him, spoiling him rotten. At one point Sherlock has to actually ask him to stop because he feels too close to coming, and when the edge recedes and John returns his three fingers back inside Sherlock’s body and adds a fourth, moving them shallowly in and out, Sherlock thinks he might go insane with want.

“Now, John, please,” he begs, and John complies. He reaches for a condom – Sherlock can barely breathe as he watches him roll it on – and then John locks eyes with him in a silent, final request for confirmation. Sherlock nods, and there’s gentle but insistent pressure at the entrance to his body and John pushes in. Sherlock can only gasp as his body accepts, _welcomes_ the intrusion.

“Okay?” John asks, bowing his head down to drop kisses all over Sherlock’s face. Sherlock nods once again, unable to speak – he knows John can’t be even halfway in, but it already feels… indescribable. It doesn’t hurt, not by any definition – John’s prepared him well and there’s plenty of lube – but he can still feel the stretch, the substantial girth of John’s penis spreading him open.

Sherlock pants as his body adjusts, then swallows and opens his eyes (he has no recollection of closing them).

“Go on,” he manages to get out, and he watches John’s eyes grow even darker, pleasure spread on his face as he pushes in deeper, deeper.

“ _John, oh, John!”_ Sherlock can’t stop himself from crying out as he is _filled_ , there’s no other word for it, he’s full of John, body and soul.

“You feel incredible, love,” John whispers to him. “I love you so much, you’re amazing.”

He pushes his hands underneath Sherlock’s shoulders and lowers himself down on his forearms carefully, until they are flush chest to chest, and Sherlock wraps his arms tighter around John’s back. This is perfect, they’re so close, closer than close. His mouth seeks out John’s and they kiss, hungry and messy, Sherlock opening his mouth wide and inviting John’s tongue in. John’s tongue in his mouth and John’s cock in his arse – just that knowledge is almost unbearably intense. He’s John’s, John has claimed him, he is completely, utterly John’s.

Gradually his body relaxes around John and John begins to move – gently, carefully, grinding more than thrusting, a slow undulation of his hips that feels like a mirror image of what his tongue is doing in Sherlock’s mouth, a gentle exploration of Sherlock’s insides. Sherlock moans against John’s mouth, almost overwhelmed. It’s not that what they did before was less momentous, less important, but this feels almost symbolic – offering all of himself to John, making room for him within his body to parallel the space John already occupies within Sherlock’s heart

“Can you try to wrap one leg around my back?” John asks him when the need to breathe forces them to stop kissing. Sherlock does as instructed, changing the angle of penetration, and when John moves again, hot, molten pleasure explodes deep within Sherlock’s core.

“ _Ahhh, John_!” he groans, throwing his head back.

“Found it, have we?” John says, self-satisfied. Sherlock can _hear_ the grin in his voice, and somehow that makes everything even feel even better.

“Yes, yes, please!” he cries out as John repeats the motion, sending further sparks of ecstasy down every nerve in Sherlock’s body. Needing more, Sherlock lifts his other leg too, crossing his ankles behind John’s back, trying to draw John even deeper into himself, and it works – _oh God_ , it works. It’s almost too much now, and all Sherlock can do is gasp for air and moan, holding onto John for dear life. John rocks into him in a sensuous rhythm, targeting Sherlock’s prostate with precision and dragging his abdomen over the underside of Sherlock’s cock, and Sherlock writhes in exquisite bliss.

“God, look at you,” John breathes hotly over Sherlock’s open lips. “So gorgeous, so responsive, I can’t get enough of you.”

Sherlock opens his eyes at that to look at John, and the open adoration and joy on John’s face send a different kind of pleasure through him.

“I love you,” he gasps even though he can barely get enough air into his lungs, needing to say it.

“I love you too,” John says as he drops open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach. “So much, Sherlock, so much.”

The movements of his hips change then, no longer light and teasing, but firm and purposeful, chasing a specific goal. He pulls almost all the way out and then pushes back in, slow and gentle but determined, making Sherlock feel every millimetre of his cock as it strokes over Sherlock passage. He grinds against Sherlock’s prostate every single time, igniting sparks of pleasure so sharp and concentrated Sherlock couldn’t keep quiet now if his life depended it on it.

“Can you touch yourself?” John asks, but Sherlock can’t even answer, much less do what John asks him to. His legs are wrapped around John’s hips, his fingers digging into John’s back, and he can’t move, he can’t do anything lest he should lose this perfect spot where everything feels blissfully good.

“Let me, then,” says John, perfect John, understanding what Sherlock is unable to articulate. He shifts all of his weight on one arm, sneaking his other hand between their bodies and wrapping it around Sherlock’s straining, throbbing erection.

“ _Johnnn!”_ Sherlock keens loudly, his voice not even human anymore as his hips cant off the bed in a desperate attempt to push his cock into John’s fist and impale himself further on John at the same time.

“Yes, come on,” John says urgently, sounding almost as wrecked as Sherlock feels. “Come on, you beautiful thing.” He fists Sherlock’s cock erratically, not really matching the rhythm of his thrusts but it doesn’t matter, it feels so good. Sherlock draws his knees closer to his chest, letting John push impossibly deeper, and he rocks his hips as much as his limited range of motion allows, trying to meet his thrusts, and the separate bursts of pleasure every time John hits his prostate start to blend together, merging into something sharp and definite.

And then all it takes is one more precise thrust, one more flick of thumb over Sherlock’s slit and it’s there, Sherlock’s entire body coiling and then releasing all at once.

“Yes, yes, yes,” John chants in time with his thrusts as he continues to push into him, blessedly harder now, or maybe it just feels that way as Sherlock’s muscles clench wildly around John as his orgasm overtakes him, and then he can _feel_ John come within him, twitching and spurting, and it sends new wave of pleasure through him, drawing his climax out as he screams himself hoarse and his cock gushes in John’s hand, again and again and again.

When it’s finally over he can do nothing but lie there and pant, his mind utterly blank, his body wrung out. He doesn’t even manage a wince when John slips out of him. When he finally recovers enough to open his eyes, he finds John lying on his side, an arm folded underneath his head, looking at him with the most tender, adoring smile Sherlock has ever seen. Before he knows it he’s smiling back, and they spend an indeterminable amount of time like that, not saying anything, just looking at each other and grinning like fools. Sherlock’s heart feels full to bursting.

Sherlock’s smile falters only when he feels a question rising in his throat, forcing its way past its lips. It’s a question he hasn’t dared to repeat after he was rejected on the first attempt, but now, perhaps, the time is right.

“John,” he says softly, his voice slightly raspy. “Will you move in? Rosie can have your old room and I promise I’ll do anything to make you both comfortable, I can—”

“Yes,” John interrupts him and cups Sherlock cheek. “Of course, yes, Sherlock. I was hoping you’d ask. I want – a proper home, with you and Rosie.”

Sherlock leans in to kiss him and, without actively deciding to do it, he starts laughing. Happiness bubbles up in him, pure, unadulterated joy he has no way of containing and that needs to be expressed. He laughs until John joins him, and then they laugh together.


End file.
